


going up?

by annejumps



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Alternate Universe - Office, Awkward Flirting, Elevators, Erik Being Cocky, Honestly Charles What Are You Thinking, M/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 13:46:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4708166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annejumps/pseuds/annejumps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles encounters a hot man in the elevator. Charles assumes he doesn't understand English. Charles might be wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	going up?

The first time Charles saw the man, Charles wasn’t entirely sure he hadn’t imagined him.

“Moira,” he said under his breath, elbowing her, “am I hallucinating?” He gestured using his coffee cup with what he hoped was subtlety toward the man. Said man was on his mobile a few steps away from Charles in the lobby, which was starting to fill up with bleary-eyed employees struggling to come to terms with the arrival of another work week.

“Hallucinating what?” asked Moira, who consistently demonstrated a refreshing disinterest in Charles’ dramatics. That was, once she’d made it crystal-clear that she was not interested in a torrid office romance with Charles, or anything approaching it. No harm done, and Moira was a great friend. He and Moira typically rode in together -- she drove -- and got coffee on the way.

“That man,” Charles replied, watching the man in question, who was talking on his mobile in what sounded like German, not that Charles was an eavesdropper. He was tall and attractively lean, with artfully mussed hair, ginger stubble, a graceful neck and a gorgeous jawline. Someone walked past the man and gave him a little wave of greeting; he replied in what was presumably German as well, flashing a toothy grin that crinkled his sea-green eyes. He was dressed in a black leather jacket and dark wash jeans.

“You’re staring,” Moira whispered, amused. Charles gave her a look, but composed himself, taking a long drink of coffee and trying to watch more casually, less creepily. The man continued to speak in German in fond tones to whoever was on the other end, until their elevator dinged and he said something concluding with “Auf Wiedersehn, Mutti,” and ended the call. He, Charles, Moira, and a few others around them stepped in. The others got off first, leaving the three of them alone, Charles and Moira behind the man, who had his hands in his pockets.

“So we’re either both hallucinating him,” Charles said, rather certain the man didn’t speak English, “or he’s real.”

Moira gave him an odd look, drawing her brows together for a moment and looking as though she might say something. She paused, apparently thinking better of it, and then went with saying “It’s far more likely he’s real, Charles.”

They arrived at their floor, and the man gave them a polite nod as they passed him to exit. “Off you go to the modeling agency on the thirtieth floor, then,” Charles told him, with his most charming grin. He was met with a puzzled smile. 

“Charles--” Moira began, admonishing, as the doors closed. 

“What? It’s harmless,” Charles protested, holding the door of their office open for her. “He hasn’t any idea what I’m saying.” 

“He--” Just then they saw Emma approaching, demanding to know if there were any changes to the nine a.m. presentation, and thoughts of the man were pushed aside for the time being.

Charles saw him again the next morning; however, he was talking to someone else this time, it seemed, not his mother, judging from the tone, but still in German exclusively. They got on the elevator, as before, and once again, everyone else got off at a lower floor than theirs, leaving the three of them. 

“Good Lord, he’s so hot,” Charles said to Moira conversationally, without looking at the man -- after all, if he saw Charles looking at him, he’d think he was being addressed. With him not speaking English, that wasn’t a problem. 

Moira screwed up her face as if she’d eaten a lemon, and then cleared her throat and recovered, taking a long drink of coffee.

“He really is,” Charles continued. “Absolutely scorching. I thought the jeans he had on yesterday were flattering, but these….” 

Moira coughed. Once more, the man smiled at them as they exited, none the wiser.

Again on Wednesday. “Not everyone can carry off that purposefully rumpled, unshaven look,” Charles observed to Moira, who rolled her eyes. “I certainly can’t--”

“No, you can’t,” Moira readily agreed, which Charles felt was unnecessary.

“--But he can. I swear, I wish I knew what he’s up to here. Is there an entire floor of Ger-- of Euro-- of international models in this building?” That was close.

Moira sighed at him, amused. “Not that I’m aware of.”

Again the little smile from the man as they left. It was fun for Charles to have a new person on whom to deploy his most charming grin. That was the universal language, anyway. One of them.

“I wonder why we don't see him in the afternoon or evening,” Charles said on Thursday, after observing that the man was wearing a fetching raincoat. “Perhaps he works extra long hours of… being sexy. Overtime in the sexiness mines.”

Friday: “I’m sure he’s going to have a good weekend. Some lucky person or persons will no doubt be tapping that, language barrier or no.”

“Oh, please,” Moira said, “as if you aren’t a total manwhore.” 

“Not _total_ , my God, Moira,” Charles said. “Besides, this weekend I’m going to be extremely busy coordinating our fundraiser, as you well know.”

The next week at work went on similarly. Every morning, the man was on his mobile in the lobby speaking in rapid German. It was entrancing and Charles had found that the man had started to slip into his late-night thoughts, saying God only knew what -- well, God and people who spoke German -- to Charles while looking gorgeous.

Moira bore his soliloquies with patience, simply nodding, smiling, and rolling her eyes where appropriate.

Monday: “I’d like to know how much time he spends in the gym, to keep that fit.”

Tuesday: “Perhaps he’s an underwear model.”

Wednesday: “He’s got the sexiest voice, don’t you think?” 

Thursday: “I suppose some people are just gifted by genetics. Wonderful things, genes. Beautiful things. He’s Exhibit A.”

Friday: “I’d like to undo his zip with my teeth.”

The doors opened, and Moira and Charles’ regional manager, Armando, raised a hand in greeting. “Hey, guys, hey, I’m just gonna pop up to the twenty-seventh floor and I’ll be back down to join you in a little bit--” He stepped in, as Charles and Moira moved to give him some space as they went to exit. 

“Hey, Erik!” Armando said. 

To the man. 

Who answered, “Morning, Armando, good to see you. We’ve got some prototypes together, as you requested last week--” He smiled at Charles, who was standing perfectly still, not having fully exited the elevator. “Excuse me, I’m sorry, do you need something?” His English had no German accent.

Charles looked at Moira, who was biting back a laugh, looking as though she might guffaw at any moment. “It was worth it,” she whispered, “all that waiting was worth it.”

“What’s going on, guys?” Armando said. Charles realized he was in the way of the doors, preventing them from closing. 

“Charles needs something on the twenty-seventh floor,” Moira said, and as Charles stepped back in the elevator he could just hear her bursting into laughter.

“What is it you need?” Erik asked, smiling at Charles, an extremely knowing and deeply amused smile. Armando looked from Erik to Charles.

“Er,” Charles said intelligently.

“Armando,” Hank called from the lobby, just as the doors were starting to close. “Hey, they’re asking for you in R&D.”

“Coming,” Armando said, pushing the OPEN DOORS button, and exiting, leaving Charles and Erik alone in the elevator.

Charles blinked at Erik as his mind replayed everything he’d said around him for the past two -- God -- two weeks. He ran his free hand through his hair, tugged on it briefly, and put his hand over his mouth for a moment.

“Why… why…. Why didn’t you tell me you spoke English?”

“Why did you assume I didn’t?” Erik countered smoothly.

“Point,” Charles admitted. The horror of his situation washed over him again. “Oh, God. You’ve been in our engineering department on twenty-seven this entire time.”

“Yes, indeed I have. Nothing to do with any modeling agency, I’m afraid.” He looked very smug. Gorgeously smug.

“No need to look quite so pleased with yourself,” Charles muttered as they exited to the lobby of the twenty-seventh floor.

“Oh, I beg to differ,” Erik said. “Come with me, Charles. My office.”

“How do you know my name?” Charles asked, following.

“Moira,” Erik said simply. 

Charles groaned. “Moira,” he muttered to himself under his breath.

“Are you sure you’re all right, Charles?” Erik inquired, and gestured to a corridor to the left. “You’re white as a sheet. Perhaps you ought to sit down,” he said, as they approached his office. “Go on, have a seat,” he said, and closed the door behind them. Charles set down his coffee and slumped in the indicated chair in front of Erik’s very large, very nice desk.

Charles cleared his throat as Erik sat down in his large and impressive leather chair, and regarded him. Right. Time to own up to it all. “Please allow me to apologize,” he said, “for my egregious and ridiculous behavior.”

Erik waved a hand dismissively. “Apology not accepted.”

Charles swallowed. “Please don’t sue me.”

Erik shook his head. “Oh, don’t worry about that.” 

“But--”

“Charles. Consider the fact that if I had objected and found the things you were saying offensive, I could at any time have interrupted you and asked you to stop.”

“Ah.” Charles relaxed a little, and sat back. “So… you weren’t offended.”

“I should have been,” Erik said, and Charles felt himself flush again. “Those were terrible lines.”

Charles opened his mouth to protest, and then closed it again.

“Will you go to dinner with me, Charles?”

“I--”

“Saturday night, I’m hoping.”

“Yes, I’d…. Yes, I would like to.”

Erik tilted his head, and smiled. “You struck me as more… talkative than this, Charles. In addition to being charming, having a sexy accent, and having gorgeous blue eyes. If you can actually carry on a conversation, that is, a dialogue for two people, give me a call and we’ll discuss when and where.” He handed Charles a business card. Charles, taking the cue, stood up, as gracefully as possible, trying to salvage some dignity. He pocketed the card. 

“I will… call you. Later,” he said, squaring his shoulders, nodding briskly, and striding to the door.

“Please do,” Erik said, as Charles touched the doorknob. “It would be nice, although I’m sure I’ll be tired after a week of overtime in the sexiness mines. Perhaps afterward you can undo my zip with your teeth.”

Charles pressed his forehead to the doorjamb and groaned.

**Author's Note:**

> From an AU idea on [this post](http://theappleppielifestyle.tumblr.com/post/118268956516/i-got-in-my-car-and-you-were-sleeping-in-the)! _‘we take the same elevator every day and due to a misunderstanding I assumed you didn’t speak english and I’ve been talking to my friend about how hot you are for ~~three~~ two weeks and apparently my friend has known from the start but you agreed not to tell me bc you both think its hilarious what the fuck’ au_
> 
> I made the executive decision to use "elevator" instead of "lift."


End file.
